Now that I have a better look at it, the creature looks like one of those tiny scorpions I used to see in the desert. Only cut in half and enlarged. It doesn’t have a tail and its midsection is far smaller — in relation to the claws — than that of a scorpion.

I tighten my grip on my spear and take a step back to open some space. A glance over my shoulder shows nothing but the darkness behind me. Nothing is charging out toward us after the loud echoing snap from the half-scorpion.

That short moment of distraction costs me. As I turn around, the claws of the creature fly toward me and I’m unable to jump away fast enough. It slices through my hand, sending my spear flying off to the side and tearing right through the sleeve of my outfit.

The claw doesn’t leave any lasting damage to me, of course, but I’m now disarmed and my snowsuit is torn above the glove.

I take another step away. The scorpion retracts its pincers to its side, ready to burst forth with its next strike. It scuttles forward, trying to get within attacking distance again. The darkness is still behind me and my spear is on the other side of the scorpion, so I try to back away to the side.

The scorpion keeps at the same pace as me as I try to circle my way around. As soon as I have a clear path to my spear, I abandon all caution and dash toward it. The scorpion’s claws explode forward, barely grazing past my head.

I pick up my spear without issue. Now that I’m on the other side, I can easily just run off. I don’t need to worry about the darkness looming behind it if I don’t engage. But isn’t this the perfect opportunity? The scorpion isn’t anything dangerous. Well, not to me. My snowsuit might say different. The next patch without glow-bugs I try to run into might hide something I can’t fight. Or maybe all I’ll find are the blind-lizards, which won’t be much of a challenge.

Against my better judgement, I raise my spear again and wait for the half-scorpion to approach. It does so slowly, almost seeming unsure of how to attack. The pincers on its long arms sway from left to right and brush across the ground.

Well, if it isn’t going to attack, I might as well take the initiative. I thrust straight forward, hoping to pierce it with one blow. The sharp tip of my weapon grazes off the scorpion’s carapace, leaving nothing more than a shallow scratch on the hard surface.

I realise the folly of my decision to attack it head on almost too late. I’ve put myself right between its pincers. There’s no way I’ll be able to back up in time to avoid them snapping at me, so I go the only other direction I can think of: right between its legs. I crawl under its body as I hear two loud snaps ring out one after the other.

It knows I’m under it and immediately tries to scuttle backward to keep me in front of it. In a moment of inspiration, I wedge the back of my spear into a rock and angle the sharp end into the joint between its body and pincer. The creature backs up with enough force that the spear pierces right through the hard carapace and into the vulnerable inside of the limb.

The scorpion screeches and twists away from the sharp pain in its joint, but only pulls the spear along with it. Before it can move too far away, I clamp down on my control as hard as I can and slam my entire body onto the spear, jerking it down and through the bottom of the joint.

Another screech escapes the scorpion as it backs away. One of its pincers now drag along the ground, limp.

I spring to my feet and rush around to the side with the injured limb. If it can’t attack me with that pincer anymore, I should be able to attack it without worry. I can’t risk using my flames, so I need to use anything that might give me the advantage.

It tries to spin and face me while backing away, clicking its remaining claw to threaten me. It is in pain and feels in danger, so it wants to scare me off.

If you didn’t want to be in danger, you shouldn’t have attacked me.

I run around its side faster than it can spin. Once I’m near its back, I rush in and bring my spear down in a downward swing. I push a heavy impulse through my body, trying to put as much weight behind it as I can as the sharp tip comes down on the centre of its body.

I’m rewarded with the bladed tip slicing into the carapace. It doesn’t dig in deep, but it’s proof that this method works. I doubt anyone else in my team would have any issue cutting this scorpion up — except Grímr in his current body — so I still have a long way to go before I’ll be able to pierce the skin of the enhanced, but this is a good start.

I jerk the spear out of the scorpion and move around its back again before it can spin on me. The next swing is aimed at the joint of between a leg and its body. Even if I can pierce its carapace, it’ll take too long to fell if each strike is shallow. I need to slow its movement.

Instead of the joint I was aiming for, I hit slightly lower on its leg. I put in the same amount of effort as what let me break through its back, but the angle of its hard leg ricochets the blade down into the soil.

The scorpion spins on me and snaps out once more. I expect to tug the spear along with me and dodge with ease, but the spear doesn’t budge. My strengthened blow wedged it in the rock beneath the soil. With my unenhanced tug, I’m sent off balance and the pincer slams closed around my head.

I apply the proper strength to free my spear and back up. An annoyed glance is all I give the remains of my hood. I need to be more careful; I still need this outfit for when I finally escape these caves. Wading through snow without its protection does not sound fun.

The scorpion snaps its pincer a few times, confused how it didn’t catch its prey.

Determined not to make any more mistakes, I dash toward its weak side again. As soon as I run, it turns to me, but it is too late. My spear thrusts straight into the joint of its front leg. I glide my hands up the shaft of the spear and push another impulse through my body. I twist, severing the leg entirely as I continue running behind it.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Before it stops screeching and can turn on me, I bring my spear down on the rear leg I missed before. This time I hit dead-on. The blade cuts through with ease, removing another leg.

Without two of the three legs on its weakened side, it can’t keep its balance. The scorpion collapses as it tries to turn to me.

The opportunity presents itself, so I take it. I chop off the remaining leg before it can push off the ground again. Like the last swing, I feel the carapace shattering beneath the weight of my spear.

The scorpion can do nothing but squirm on the ground now. With its remaining legs, it drags itself away from me, trying its utmost to put its claw between us. It screeches. I’m not sure whether it’s in fear, pain, or just from the futility it must feel. Maybe it’s all. Maybe it isn’t even capable of those thoughts and it is just instinctual screeching.

Whatever the case, it would be cruel to extend this longer than it needs to be.

I jump on its back, careful not to be knocked off by the jerky movements of the dying creature. Once I’m above its head, I ready my spear and thrust down. The spear really is better for thrusting; while the swing earlier only barely got through the carapace, my thrust pierces through the bottom of its head.

The half-scorpion doesn’t die immediately, so I pull back and spear through its head once more. Its struggles slow, but many of its limbs still twitch. The pincer opens and clamps closed in a loop. One more thrust stills it for good.

I drop to the ground and look over the motionless scorpion. It’s the first creature I’ve killed without relying on my flames. I definitely have a lot to work on, but to know my practice and training with the spear hasn’t been for nothing feels great.

My outfit could have been spared the damage, though. Besides the hole in my chest, both the hood and one of my sleeves have severed. I pick up both from where they lie on the ground and shove them into a pocket. When I rescue those three, I’ll make sure Jav fixes it up, just like he promised.

My eyes hover over the corpse before rising to the void. Luckily, whatever is hiding in there has shown no intention of interrupting our fight. But I won’t be able to just burn through this corpse as I normally would; even if whatever is in the massive shadow doesn’t react, those arachnids above definitely will.

I lug one of the severed legs over my shoulder and move on for the next fungi trap I can find.

While I did fairly well to disable the scorpion, I realise I need to be faster. It could only hit me when I was caught off guard. In a fight like that, I need to react quicker so I won’t be hit even if I’m surprised.

The first pincer that hit me caught me when I was distracted by my surroundings. While I can’t say being aware of my surroundings is bad, I’ll need to make sure it doesn’t come at the cost of my awareness of the enemy before me. I should have at least created more distance and gauged the scorpion before worrying about the shadow.

The second hit was entirely on my unfamiliarity with the spear in an actual fight. Whether or not I should have abandoned the spear after it didn’t come out isn’t something I can know for sure. In a more dangerous fight, leaving myself unarmed might be just as bad as letting the enemy get a hit on me. What I can improve, is my understanding of how my spear might react when different strength is applied to it. I had no idea I lodged my spear in the earth until I tried to tug it. I feel like the only way I can improve this understanding is to just use the weapon more. Become more familiar.

As I walk, I continue to replay the fight in my mind and think of ways I could be better. Opportunities I’d missed in the heat of the moment and pointless movements that I’d have been better without.

Eventually, the slow biased movement of the glow-bugs becomes apparent once more and I follow them to my next meal.

I hear the squawking of the bat before I see it. The outline of the creature is all I can see in the blue glow of the innumerable lights surrounding it. It seems I’m not the only one who uses those fungi bug-traps to have an easy feast. The bat crawls along the ground, jerking its head into the swarm of lights every few moments.

The bat approaches the hole in the centre of fungi growths and throws its head in the stream of bugs. It’s obviously enjoying the meal, but I’m curious how it will deal with the jam that fungi tube spits out when you get too close.

As expected, the viscous liquid spurts out and covers the bat. It screeches; the ultrasonic noise loud to my ears even as far as I am. It is too far to disturb my flames, fortunately.

The bat mustn’t have had a plan to deal with the substance. It stumbles back and tries to wipe at it with its wings, to no effect. The glow-bugs soon swarm the creature, intent on the delicious juice coating the bat’s body. Another screech rings out as the bat realises their roles are reversed and it is now the one being eaten.

With a flap of its wings, the bat launches into the air. It flies right through the thick layer of bugs. As it breaches the top, a wave of the blue lights follow after it. It looks like every bug in the area chases the bat into the air. Millions of tiny glowing dots chase after a single creature. The light intensifies around the flying bat as the bugs swarm.

That terrifying, chest shaking growl rumbles through the cavern a moment before the bat disappears along with a large section of the swarm. The earth shakes as an arachnid monstrosity lands on the ground. Only visible from the outline of the many glow-bugs still spread through the air, the creature looms tall.

I freeze, hoping that it won’t notice me as long as I don’t make a noise.

Barely a second passes from it crashing to the ground before a bang tears through the air, far louder than even the impact of the arachnid. As difficult as it is to see, I can still make out the arachnid being launched a good hundred metres. Almost as if it appears out of the swarm, the giant centipede rushes the arachnid and slams its forcipules into its side.

I don’t find the heavy impacts shaking the air anywhere as frightening as the silence in which the centipede closed the distance. Its weight alone should rattle the earth. It is unsettling.

I flinch as the arachnid slams many of its front legs into the centipede. The echoing clatter of metallic reverberations almost too loud to handle. With impossible ease, the centipede lifts the arachnid off the ground and slams it down on its head before twisting around it.

The centipede constricts around the arachnid while it tries in vain to slam and bite its way out. But the centipede has the weight advantage by a factor, so it is all but impossible for it to escape.

I try to make myself as small as I can. Their fight — if one can even call it that — has taken them to the edge of where I can still make their outlines. Should I make a run for the fungi trap? Or should I just wait and hope they don’t crash their way over here?

Before I can make my choice, a deep cracking and groaning echoes through the cavern chamber. The arachnid’s terrifying screech shakes my body before cutting short. A wet crunch accompanies the deformation of the arachnid’s silhouette.

The glow-bugs return to their normal height and I lose sight of the centipede uncurling from the dead arachnid. The remains of their fight disappear into the darkness. Nothing makes a noise.

I think… I’m just gonna lay here for a bit. I don’t want to be the first creature to make a noise after that. Getting a taste of that arachnid’s corpse would be nice, but there’s no chance I’m risking any proximity with that centipede. As soon as I can, I’m diving down that tunnel and running far away.